The One Who Digs At You
by Nyx Raisa
Summary: A not-so-brief history of Jeremy Borash and Eric Young; A study in how one moment can change the course of your life. Slash, rarepair is rare
1. Some Weaknesses Are Easy To Identify

Notes: Just want to briefly disclaim that I do not own them and do not claim this ever happened. I also do not own the rights to the song "Dig" by Incubus, which is sort of this fic's theme song (if fics had theme songs). I kind of mess with the timeline some, but I'll address that in more detail when I get there. I put a lot of effort into this and I hope it shows. I know JBEY is a really weird pairing -- I mean, they don't even have character tags! -- but I hope you give them a chance. Anyways... enjoy!

1.

Although he didn't realize it until much later, one brief moment in 2004 changed the rest of his life. It was as simple as meeting the eyes of a young man with peroxide-blonde hair, sitting in one of the chairs outside of Jarrett's office with the latest batch of TNA potentials. JB passed them on his way to conference with Jeff about said potentials, giving them only a quick glance on the way. But only the blonde, who gave him a shy smile as he passed, managed to stick in his mind.

JB officially met the young man two hours later, when he walked into Jarrett's office for his interview. He offered a firm handshake and the same shy smile. "Eric Young," he introduced himself, his voice startlingly hoarse. Thirty minutes into the interview and JB was already impressed with him. He spoke with a great deal of self-assurance, although he was greener than anything; not like most of the new talents he saw in this office. They were so excited they could hardly sit still, eager to show everything they had and everything they would be, making up along the way what they didn't have. Eric, however, sat there calmly, answering their questions with honesty, confidence and a quiet sense of humor.

They concluded the interview and he left the room, head held high. JB watched him exit and leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his jaw. "You should hire him," he said thoughtfully. Jeff turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"What? Why? You heard what he said, about that respiratory condition. He has to have surgery all the time… he'll have to miss shows… he's unreliable. I don't even know if we'd be able to put him on the mic."

"Because of his voice? I think it's… different. Memorable. You say we need to look for unique talents if we ever want to compete with WWE someday. And anyway, as I'm sure _you_ heard what he said, he only needs those surgeries every couple of years, and they barely affect him at all. I'm telling you, that kid has it. Put him in some dark matches or make him a jobber. And then if you don't think he has it, fine. But at least give him a chance."

Two weeks later, Eric Young was back in Jeff Jarrett's office, signing a short-term TNA contract.

"Your first match will be next week, here in Nashville. Think you're ready?"

"I'd be ready tomorrow if you gave me the chance." He was grinning from ear to ear, all trace of that shy, sweet smile lost in his excitement.

Their paths didn't cross again until the night of the show; although in actuality, it turned out to be more like a head on collision. Eric was backstage, attempting to fight the pre-debut-match jitters by pacing back and forth. JB had his head down, rushing from point A to B and trying to check off objectives one through fifteen in the process, his eyes on the clipboard in his hands and not where he was going. As Eric Young turned, he ran into Jeremy Borash, both of them going full speed. While the impact only knocked Eric back a step, mostly in surprise, JB stumbled backwards and fell, landing heavily on his butt. The clipboard clattered to the floor, alerting any other superstars lucky enough to be backstage at the time.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry!" Eric reached down and JB allowed the larger man to help him to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," JB muttered, adjusting his blazer and brushing off the back of his pants.

"Are you sure? I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going…" Eric babbled, bending down and grabbing the fallen clipboard.

"Thanks," JB said, taking the clipboard. "I told you, I'm fine. Nothing bruised but my pride." He smiled, hoping to put the other man at ease. He had roughly fifty things to do in the next twenty minutes, but Eric's cheeks were decidedly pink and JB didn't want to send the man to his TNA debut all flustered.

"Take a deep breath. You're going to be great, all right?" The flushed deepened just a bit on Eric's cheeks, but that shy smile was back on his face.

"Thanks, JB."

With a hearty clap to the younger man's bare shoulder, JB hurried off to finish the rest of his checklist.

When the show was over and JB finally had time to breathe, he ran into Eric again; fortunately for both of them, not literally this time. Jarrett had cornered the new acquisition and was giving him pointers. Eric nodded at everything he was saying, but seemed unable to get away from the lecture. JB leaned against the wall a few feet behind Jarrett, listening to the speech and meeting Eric's eyes, both struggling to keep a straight face.

After a few minutes of this and Jarrett showed no signs of stopping, JB took pity on the new guy and hurried up to Jarrett, hoping to divert his attention.

"Jeff, I think Dan's looking for you. He had a question about booking or something. I think he's in the sound booth."

"Oh? All right. I'll see you later, guys. Remember what we talked about, Eric!" With a wave, he hurried down the hall to find Dan, who had no questions for him whatsoever and was probably not even in the arena anymore. They watched Jarrett disappear down the hall. As soon as he was out of earshot, they met each other's eyes and burst out laughing.

"How long did he have you cornered?" JB asked, as their laughter tapered off.

"The last twenty minutes or so. Was someone really looking for him?"

"Nope. But he'd stand there and talk your face off all night if you let him."

"Yeah, I was beginning to notice that."

Their eyes met again and JB just shook his head, still grinning. Maybe it was that moment of shared laughter, or maybe it was just Eric's contagious boyish grin, but JB heard himself make the offer before he really even thought about it. "There's a bar around the corner some of the guys go to after shows. Why don't you come along? I'll buy you a drink to celebrate your debut."

Somewhere between the second and third round of beer, they became friends.

While TNA guys were a more or less regular fixture at Jack's, the bar around the corner, JB and Eric Young were the only guys who were there on a consistent basis. After every home show, and sometimes even when there wasn't. They'd buy a couple of rounds, unwind and laugh off the pressures of the business. Jarrett listened to JB's good advice and offered Eric a long-term contract, making him a stable in Team Canada. TNA made it to television and moved down to Florida, and JB only picked up a few dozen more odd jobs with the transition. For a while… everything was pretty good.

If he noticed Eric shooting him thoughtful, lingering glances over beers in Jack's, or the various other bars the guys frequented when they were in shooting in Florida, he made no mention of it.


	2. Look Me In The Eye

2.

"Fancy meeting you here," someone chuckled from behind him. JB turned, seeing Eric and his trademark smirk. With a little wave, he slid into the empty barstool beside JB, peering at the glass in his hand and back to the man himself.

"Drinkin' hard tonight? What's the occasion?"

He didn't answer, merely shrugged halfheartedly and swallowed the last of the scotch, banging the empty glass back to the bar. Eric caught the bartender's eye and gestured for two more. JB furrowed his brow, watching as the man dropped two glasses of scotch-rocks on the bar's scarred surface. "I never knew you to drink scotch, Eric."

"Well, I am tonight. Can't let you drown your sorrows by yourself, can I?" He raised a glass and clinked it lightly against the rim of the other. JB watched as Eric took a swallow; he wrinkled his nose at the bitter liquid and coughed once against the back of his hand. On the whole, JB was impressed, tilting his glass towards Eric in a little toast.

An hour and two scotches later found them in a slightly better mood.

"J, I think I'm gonna fall off this bar stool."

"Well, maybe you should quit spinning around on it then."

Eric reached for the glass, empty save for one last sip, an expression of extreme concentration etched on his face. JB was half tempted to move the glass away or to one side, seeing if he could get Eric to fall off the seat, but in the end bumped the glass closer to the man's outstretched fingers. It wouldn't help him to laugh at anyone's misfortune tonight, especially if he caused it.

The glass hit the bar with a clatter of ice and JB turned, intending to congratulate Eric on his newfound drinking skills; the words died on his tongue as Eric broke into a spate of coughing. At first interpreting it as a reaction to the liquor, JB gave him a few good-natured pats on the back. When the rough hacking continued for a few moments longer than just alcohol burn, concern worked through the drunken haze and JB's hand stayed on Eric's back.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, leaning close to be heard over the jukebox music. The coughing tapered off and Eric nodded. For a moment he just stared at JB, his eyes unreadable, almost hazy… under the influence of the scotch, JB assumed. The younger man blinked and leaned away, remembering he'd been asked something. "Yeah it's just the smoke in here… it's bugging me. I'm gonna go outside and get some fresh air."

"I'll meet you out there. We've done enough damage for the day, what do you think?" Eric's smile was answer enough and he slipped off the bar stool, wobbling on his feet for a moment, and then wove his way to the exit.

JB paid the tab and made his own way outside, the air muggy even at midnight. There were still plenty of cars in the parking lot, but it was devoid of human life; all of it was in the bar behind him. He felt a thin thread of panic; Eric hadn't tried to drive home, had he?

"J!" Eric called to him from his right, peering from around the corner of the building. "Over here."

"Had me worried for a second. Didn't see you, thought you drove off," he said, following him around to the side of the building.

"Aw, that's sweet. You were worried about me."

"Yeah, well…" By habit JB pulled out a battered pack of Camel lights from his pocket and shook out a cigarette. He placed it between his lips and was about to light it when he realized what he was doing and looked over at Eric guiltily.

"Go ahead. I'll stand upwind… which way's upwind?"

He lit his smoke and took a deep drag; Eric eyed the drifting smoke and moved to stand on the other side of JB, leaning against the building's brick wall. JB followed suit, doing his best to block the cigarette smoke with his body. They leaned against the rough bricks in companionable silence; the only sound was the thumping of the bass from the music inside.

"So you wanna tell me what's on your mind?" JB turned his head, wondering what he was getting at. But Eric had fallen silent, staring up at the few twinkling stars visible through the parking lot's bright lights. He turned the other way, exhaling his lungful of smoke, addressing his next words to the cracked asphalt.

"Not particularly," he muttered. "Nothing's on my mind. What makes you think that?"

"I can tell, it's all over your face. And your breath. I can smell scotch from here. And I'm _upwind_."

JB snorted, smoke jetting from his nostrils. He turned his head away to exhale the rest and then looked back at Eric. "Just one of those days, I guess. Christina keeps talking about settling down, getting married and whatever. I don't know how she expects it'll work. How'm I supposed to have a real relationship with somebody when I'm always on the road? Even when I'm home I'm worrying about the job. And Jeff's always calling me about some damn thing or another, expecting me to have the answer or be able to find it… I know I agreed to help him, but I didn't think I signed my life away." With a dejected sigh he dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot.

"Self-pity doesn't suit you, J." Eric looked over at him, smiling that shy smile. "You love the work, don't lie. You're in this because you love it and you want to be in it. When you're out there announcing or working with the fans or the new talent… it's all over your face. You couldn't leave, you'd miss it too much. You'd be bored in five minutes and calling Jeff the first day, making sure he was doing everything right without you."

JB squinted suspiciously at the man beside him.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Know exactly the right thing to say."

"Just good, I guess." He was silent for a few minutes, and when he spoke again, he kept his gaze to the sky. "Are you even ready to settle down? With anybody?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe you haven't found the one."

JB snorted again, lips curling into a smirk. "You don't really believe in that whole soulmate-destiny-love-at-first-sight horseshit, do you?"

Eric shrugged. "Why not? Stranger things have happened. You see someone from across a crowded room and you feel it. Even before you meet them, you know. All it takes is one split second and your life is never the same again."

"Hey Eric?" JB asked after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"When did you become a chick?"

He laughed, bumping JB's shoulder with his own. "Shut up. Forget I said anything. Blame it on the scotch."

"Nah, I think it's cute."

"Cute?" The smile slipped off his face. "Cute. That's… just great. I'm… cute," He muttered, staring down at the ground, nudging a point of broken bottle with the toe of his sneaker. With a sigh he stood up straighter and turned away. "I'm… gonna go call us a cab."

"Eric, wait, what'd I say?" JB called, concern rising up in him at the sight of Eric's hunched shoulders. "Would you please—" He reached out and grabbed Eric's wrist before he could turn the corner, stopping him in his tracks. "What'd I say?"

He looked down at the hand around his wrist and back up at JB. "Nothing. Could you just… let me go, please?" He rotated his wrist and tried to pull away, but JB's grip didn't loosen.

"No, not until you tell me what I said to make you storm out of here in a huff."

"I'm not in a huff. I'm calling us a cab. I'm not sober, you're not either. Would you prefer to walk? Please let go."

"I'd prefer it if you told me what the hell is going on."

"I'd prefer it if you'd let me go."

"Eric, I'm just asking—"

"Nobody takes me seriously!" He yelled suddenly. His eyes blazed, but he lowered his voice as he continued. "Jarrett puts me in this stupid angle, I'm not a wrestler, I'm the god damned comic relief. And I don't even mind people laughing at me, really, I don't, but Jeff won't even… and the rest of the roster, they just see 'Eric Young, buyin' rubbers!' or 'Eric Young, afraid of his own shadow!' and whatever. And maybe that funny stuff is part of who I am, but it's not _all_ of who I am. And obviously _you _don't even take me seriously, J. Now let…GO!" He yanked his arm back. In his shock at this unexpected outburst, JB's grip had weakened considerably. Had they been sober, what happened next might have been anticipated; Eric's elbow cracked full force into the brick's behind him.

"OW! FUCK!" he yelled, clutching his elbow. Crazy tingles of pain were darting all the way up and down his arm, numbing the tips of his fingers. "Ow. Ow ow ow fuck. Shit." He craned his neck, trying to see if he'd injured his arm in any physical manner, but couldn't get his head to turn that way.

JB stepped forward and took Eric's arm, watching him warily from the corner of his eye. He tilted his arm towards the light, inspecting it closely, running his fingers over his elbow. "You're fine," JB said quietly, still looking at Eric's arm. "You're probably gonna bruise but other than that… not even scraped." He paused and looked up, meeting Eric's eyes. "I do take you seriously, Eric. I always have. I know what you're doing now sucks, but I promise you, it won't be forever. If it's important to you, maybe I could try to talk to Jeff about it. I can't guarantee he'll listen to me, but I can try."

Eric's tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze wandering over JB's face, gauging the seriousness of his words. "You would really… do that, for me?" JB nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. He could feel his cheeks growing warm as JB continued to stare at him, his hand still loosely wrapped around his arm. The moment spun out between them until Eric could no longer take the intense look; he bit his lip and lowered his eyes. He hadn't realized how close JB was to him until he looked down and saw JB's shoes instead of his own; in his pain, he'd slouched down against the wall and JB had moved perfectly between his legs.

His brain yammered at him from somewhere behind two scotches worth of liquor but Eric found, for the first time, that he had the ability to throttle that voice to silence. The doubt, the desire, the moment was now or never. He squared his shoulders and somehow managed to look JB in the eye again.

"J?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yeah?"

"Don't… don't hate me."

Confusion wrinkled JB's features and his lips parted, but before he could ask the obvious question – or any question – Eric pushed against the wall and leaned forward, watching for any sign he should stop. When JB did nothing other than look confused and made no move to stop him, Eric arched that little bit further and brushed a light kiss against JB's still parted lips.

JB's gasp of surprise was audible even over the bass pounding through the brick wall behind them. His hand tightened its grasp on Eric's arm but he made no move to pull away, and he decided to take it as an encouraging sign. He pressed another gentle kiss across JB's lips and was just beginning to seriously doubt this idea when JB very hesitantly began to kiss back. Eric smiled into the kisses and he reached out, curling his hand around JB's hip and holding him close.

Although his head was spinning under the combined onslaught of kissing and alcohol, he did his best to remember every detail of this moment. The bricks rough and warm under the thin cotton of his t-shirt. JB, also warm but not at all rough, pressing against him from chest to hip, one hand still around his arm and the other curling around his shoulder. The way he sighed into the kiss when Eric wrapped his arm around his shoulders and stroked the nape of his neck with his fingertips. The way he gasped and his hips jerked forward when Eric bit down lightly on his lower lip. The way he tasted, like scotch and cigarettes and warm and willing. The way…

The music from inside suddenly grew louder and a spate of raucous laughter grated across the parking lot; both men froze as if they'd been caught, JB going perfectly still in the circle of Eric's arms. He pulled back slowly, pressing against the bricks for leverage, eyes widened in a way that might've been comical… under different circumstances, of course.

"Eric…" he breathed. "I..." The revving of car engines drowned out his next words and he paused, waiting for the lot to empty… and for his breath to come back. Eric continued to lean against the wall, quite sure there was no way his legs would be able to support him. His heart was pounding, his pulse beating away in his knees, fingertips, throat, ears, groin. As the sound of the cars faded off into the distance, Eric couldn't help but flash a decidedly dopey grin in JB's direction and reach out for him, intending to continue where they left off. Much to his surprise, JB stepped back, away from the reach of his arms, and drew a hand under his bottom lip, still staring in wide-eyed shock at Eric.

The grin faded slowly from Eric's lips; something about the look on JB's face did not jibe with any daylight fantasies he had played out in his head. What had he just done?

"Eric, I… I can't. I don't…. I'm not…. I have a _girlfriend_. How could you…. You thought I…?" He seemed unable to say the word, and Eric's stomach – and heart – plummeted, scattering across the pavement with the other shards of broken glass. Unable to articulate, JB turned and walked towards the parking lot, leaving Eric to watch in disbelief as he walked away.

"JB, wait. I can explain." Well, that was kind of a lie, but it was something to say. He caught up to JB and grabbed his arm. Before he could speak, JB spun around and held up both hands palms out, not even meeting Eric's eyes. "J—" he started, but JB just shook his head, before turning and disappearing through the bar's front door.

Utterly at a loss and shaky as hell – but sobering up quickly, after that clusterfuck – Eric found his car in the parking lot and just sat behind the wheel, waiting for the shakes to fade and sobriety to return. A bright yellow taxi pulled into the lot fifteen minutes or so later and Eric watched a familiar figure slide into the backseat, not even looking around the parking lot for anyone he might have left behind.


	3. A Thing That Happened

**Notes: Part three. The timeline gets a little fubar here, but please forgive me (it's why it's called fiction, lol). Takes place roughly six to eight months after part 2. Mostly introspective and symbolic feathers (of what, I do not know), Samoa Joe makes a brief appearance. Still not mine nor am I claiming this ever happened. Thanks to those of you left comments on the first part, they were much appreciated! *huggles***

3.

Over the next several months, the easy friendship that had always existed between the two men became strained to the point of nonexistence. They no longer met up for beer at Jack's on their days off or made it a point to seek out different bars in Orlando after the tapings. JB no longer went out of his way to talk to Eric, whether about business, what he was doing after the show, or nothing at all.

Eric saw the way JB was distancing himself and knew it was his fault. Every time JB caught his eye from across the room and hurried away like he hadn't noticed Eric there at all twisted an icicle in his heart. He wanted to apologize for his drunken indiscretion, wanted to beg JB to forget it had ever happened, even if it meant he would have to forget it as well.

It would kill him to forget that moment; having JB in his arms, the feel of his lips moving sweetly and without hesitation over his own. But if it would get him out of this purgatory he felt whenever JB's eyes would look at him and then pass him over as if he wasn't even there… he would be willing.

His work within the company certainly wasn't helping; he had gone from being the laughingstock to being Robert Roode's personal bitch. If he thought being the comic relief was bad, being someone's gofer was ten times worse. Bobby was good-natured about the whole thing, but he could see the laughter in his eyes… in everyone's eyes.

Not to mention the fact his throat was bothering him again. When he finally had a few days of spare time, he made an appointment with his doctor, fearing the worst. He went in for the typical battery of tests, and the grim look on Dr. Halloway's face only confirmed his worries. She encouraged him to go in for surgery as soon as it was possible, and he promised he would, as soon as he cleared it with Jarrett.

Fortunately, Jarrett was perfectly willing to give him as much time as he needed, as soon as possible. Unfortunately, he wanted to send Eric out on a "bang"… and set right on planning the most humiliating joke yet. When Jarrett outlined his plan, Eric nodded and smiled in all the right places, wondering how on earth he'd allowed himself to be conned into this.

After taping his segment with Bobby, Eric trudged backstage, leaving feathers to drift and eddy in his wake. Most of them had fallen off at ringside, but a great deal were still left clinging to the honey smeared over his chest and stomach. He was going to have to sit in the locker room and pluck them all off, one by one, before he could take a shower. He pulled them off on his way, dropping them on the floor as he went, staring down at himself and muttering under his breath.

There was movement in front of him and he looked up in time… to run into JB. Hands came up to grasp his shoulders briefly and then let go, as though his skin was burning. JB looked at his hands and then down at himself; feathers were sticking to his tie and streaks of honey were staining his white dress shirt.

"Damn it Eric—"

"J, I'm sorry—"

"—Don't you ever watch where you're going?"

Eric's eyes narrowed. "Don't _you_? I should think this hallway is big enough for two people, or didn't you ever learn to, oh, I don't know, swerve?"

JB either missed the biting sarcasm in Eric's words or chose to ignore it. He brushed at the feathers sticking to his clothes, but only succeeded in getting them to stick to his hands.

"God damn it, I don't have time for this," he muttered to himself. He glanced up, apparently just now noticing Eric's honey-and-feather-covered chest. "You let them tar-and-feather you? That was a brilliant idea, Young."

"I _let _them? Yeah. Yeah I did. It was my idea and everything. I just love getting humiliated in front of thousands of people every week. It's great. This was totally what I hoped to do when I joined TNA. No thanks to you."

"No thanks to me? What the fuck does that mean? I was the one who had to convince Jarrett to hire you in the first place! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be here right now! And don't blame your shitty angles on me, maybe if you were actually a decent wrestler—"

Anger bloomed rose-red in his mind and before he could stop himself, he shoved JB hard enough to knock him back a step.

"Jesus Christ, Eric. What—"

He wrapped his hands around the lapels of JB's suit coat and lifted him to his toes, thumping his shoulders against the wall behind him. "I would stop right there, before you say something _else_ you'll regret."

The look in JB's eyes as he spoke, holding him to the wall, was strikingly similar to that night behind Jack's. Eric felt his breath catch in his throat, and he loosened his fists, dropping JB carefully back down to the floor. He took a few steps back, and then turned and walked away.

"Eric—" JB called after him. Eric paused in the middle of the hallway, feathers floating off his shoulders and drifting to the floor.

"I don't want to hear it," Eric muttered over his shoulder, and continued down the hall.

JB hadn't realized they had an audience to this bizarre confrontation until he heard a polite harrumph from behind him. He turned to see Joe standing a bit further down the hall, the opposite way from which Eric had gone.

"What was that all about?" he asked, throwing a towel over his shoulder. JB could only shake his head and pull feathers off his tie. Joe reached out and plucked a feather off JB's lapel and watched in amusement as it fluttered to the floor. "I'd ask if you if you were joining the rest of the guys at the thing tonight for Eric, but in light of… whatever the hell just happened here, I'd say you might be better off skipping it."

He was too busy picking the feathers off his clothes to be able to register what Joe had said. "The thing? What thing? Eric doesn't go out anymore."

Joe furrowed his brows in confusion, but elected not to ask for clarification on the odd comment. "You know, all the guys are giving him kind of a good luck send-off thing before he flies back to Nashville tomorrow."

All the feathers were successfully off his clothes and scattered on the floor when he finally looked at Joe. "What the hell are you talking about? He didn't get fired, did he?"

"No…" Joe spoke slowly, looking at JB like he'd suddenly dropped about fifty IQ points. "He's going into surgery the day after tomorrow… you know, for his throat? So most of us are going out, have some drinks with the guy before he leaves."

"Surgery…"

Although it didn't really seem like a question, Joe answered anyway. "Yeah. I thought Jarrett told everyone like last week. He shouldn't be out too long, couple weeks at most. JB, are you okay?"

"Surgery," he muttered to himself, looking down the hall where Eric had gone, no sign of him but a few scattered white feathers drifting and turning in tiny currents of air. "Oh, shit."

JB didn't go out with the other guys that night; instead he sat in his hotel room stared blankly at the wall with a glass half full of scotch and partially melted ice in his hand. On the outside, he was trying not to think of anything. On the inside, his mind was racing. He hadn't meant to go off on Eric earlier. He was exhausted, pulled in about sixty directions at once with no time to breathe, let alone sleep. Not to mention he'd felt increasingly odd, if not strangely awkward around Eric since that whole… whatever that was behind Jack's that night.

He tried to forget about it, brush it off as just something that happened once; he was drunk, Eric was drunk and it was just… something that happened. No reason to get worked up about it or go out of his way to avoid Eric in the halls and backstage. No reason for heat to flash through his body whenever Eric would meet his eye from across the room and flash him that little half smile.

No reason at all.

He raised the glass to his lips and knocked down half of it in a gulp.

Certainly it had no bearing whatsoever on why he called things off with Christina. He was barely home to see her and he could tell she was feeling resentful. She wanted to get married and start a family and he… just wasn't ready. He barely had a life now, what would happen if one, two, three kids came along? So Eric, Eric and his sweetly sappy talks of destiny and fate and love at first sight, pulling him against flush against his body in the muggy heat of Jack's parking lot….

He raised the glass again and pressed it to his forehead, the beading condensation feeling lovely on his suddenly overheated skin. It was just… a thing that happened. Once.

And so Eric was going into surgery the day after tomorrow. JB had asked about his surgeries during one of their numerous trips to Jack's (before that thing that happened, of course) and Eric had brushed it off. Routine surgery, every couple of years. Nothing to get worked up about. In and out in one day, living on milkshakes for a week. He'd smiled but JB could see the fear in his eyes when he'd mentioned it, even behind the two glasses of beer he'd drank that night. At the sight of that fear, JB made a sudden but absolutely honest promise to Eric that he would be there for his next surgery so he wouldn't be alone. Eric had protested, but JB did not relent, even making sure to reassure him the next day he'd meant what he said. And Eric's eyes had just absolutely shone at those words, at the promise.

And now look. He'd completely forgotten Eric even HAD surgery, after going through such lengths to prove his sincerity. Maybe he should ask Jarrett for the next couple of days off and fly into Nashville. Visit Eric in the hospital, try to rebuild their friendship, make good on his promise. It wouldn't kill him to take a little bit of a break, and it was high time – beyond high time – that they talked about what had happened and put it behind them. After all… it was just a thing that happened.

Once.


	4. When Everything Else Is Gone

**Notes: I apologize for my complete and utter lack of knowledge regarding basic hospital procedure. If there are any gross medical inconsistencies, please try to overlook them. This is a work of fiction except for the one thing I will disclaim at the end, so as not to spoil anyone. **

4.

JB managed to talk to Jarrett, secure the next couple of days off, and fly into Nashville all within the space of about six hours; it had to be some kind of record. Truth be told, he'd actually booked a ticket into Nashville before he talked to Jarrett. When he woke up that morning after tossing and turning half the night, he'd come to the conclusion nothing was going to keep him out of Nashville, and if Jarrett didn't like it, oh well.

Fortunately Jarrett understood and was gracious enough to grant him the time off, and by noon he was he was rolling his suitcase through the front door of his Nashville condo. He had enough time to take a shower, change into clean clothes and look despairingly at the expired food in his half-empty pantry before deciding he really wasn't all that hungry anyway. According to Jarrett, Eric was going under the knife – under the knife, that was the phrase he'd used over the phone, and JB was glad the other man couldn't see the grimace he'd made when he'd said it – at 2pm, on the opposite of town. And if he left right now, he might be able to catch him before he went under… before he went into surgery.

Of course, he hadn't counted on the traffic, and it took him nearly forty minutes to get to the other side of town. By the time he'd rushed into the hospital lobby, slightly out of breath, it was already ten minutes past two.

"Excuse me," he inquired of the stern-looking blonde woman behind the desk. "I was wondering if it was at all possible for me to catch Eric Young before he went into surgery?"

She looked up at him and smiled sweetly, the gesture transforming her whole demeanor.

"Eric Young…" she said, typing quickly into the computer. She scanned whatever information she had called up, and looked back up at JB, smile now tinged with apology. "I'm sorry hon, they've just now got him into prep. You'll have to wait until he gets out of surgery before you can see him."

"Oh… okay," Disappointment slumped his shoulders. "Do you know how long that will be?"

She scanned the computer screen again. "Hour, two at most. You can wait over there," she pointed to the seating area behind him, "and we'll let you know when you can see him. Are you a friend or a member of the family?"

"Oh. Um. Friend," he answered, slightly caught off guard. _Hopefully a friend._ "Jeremy Borash."

She typed something else and then smiled up at him again, "All right, Mr. Borash. You can have a seat and we'll let you know when he's ready for visitors."

He nodded his thanks and settled down into a molded plastic chair to wait. Five minutes later, he was bored out of his mind. Whatever vapid soap opera that was playing on the television across from him couldn't hold his attention and he was resigned to absently flipping through a two month old copy of National Geographic. None of the words in any of the articles registered in his mind, but the pictures were nice to look at.

The clock on the wall across from him must have been calibrated to run slow; he had looked up to check the time, certain at least fifteen or twenty minutes had gone by, only to discover it had been less than five minutes since he'd last glanced up. He sighed and tilted his neck, listening to it crack as the joints popped. He looked at the clock again. No change. He went back to flipping through the magazine and made a second attempt to read the articles.

He'd manage to pass about thirty minutes this way, wondering idly if it might not be time for a cigarette break, when he looked up and happened to notice a youngish lady doctor speaking to the receptionist at the front desk. His breath seized in his chest as he told himself there were other people sitting in the waiting area, although not many, and there was no reason to connect this doctor to Eric. When the receptionist pointed directly at him, still speaking to the doctor, he felt his heart climb into his throat, choking him. What had happened? Certainly the surgery couldn't be over already… could it? It couldn't be… Eric couldn't be….

"Mr. Borash?" the doctor called to him. The unread magazine dropped out of his hands and he walked over on shaky legs. His heart was pounding in his ears and he barely heard the doctor's introduction. "I'm Dr. Halloway, Eric's doctor. Could I speak to you for a moment?"

"What is it? What's happened?" He could hardly force the words out around his heart, still lodged in his throat. He didn't even know how he was able to breathe.

"Why don't we talk a moment in my office?"

"Just tell me."

She debated a moment, and then spoke softly. "There was a slight problem. We put Eric under anesthesia to prepare for the surgery, and he stopped breathing. This is not entirely uncommon for patients with RRP. We have him on breathing equipment until he is strong enough to breathe on his own, which we hope will be soon. Once he's breathing on his own again, we'll continue with the surgery as planned. Do you understand all that?"

JB took a deep breath and ran through the doctor's words in his mind.

"He stopped breathing."

Dr. Halloway nodded.

"But he's… okay?"

She nodded again. "He's being monitored closely, and we've no doubt he'll be off the ventilator soon. We're going to let the anesthesia work its way out of his system, and that should help. We'll keep you updated on his condition. Do you have any other questions?"

JB shook his head slowly. He didn't have any other questions, but he did want to sit down before he passed out.

"He'll be all right, Mr. Borash. I've been his doctor for the past several years and I can tell you, he's strong. This thing isn't going to beat him."

He nodded, unable to speak, trying to take heart from her words. With a firm handshake and a kind smile, she turned and headed back to where she came… back to Eric, he hoped. JB made it back to his seat and dropped down, hearing the plastic creak under the assault. He didn't even try to read this time, merely sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. Clasped together so hard his knuckles turning white.

Although he had been raised Anglican, he had not prescribed to the faith in many years, becoming one of those Easter-and-Christmas worshippers his mother had always despised. He didn't realize he was praying until he heard the whispered words rolling off his tongue, praying into the empty space between his clenched hands. "Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death…amen." He closed his eyes and waited.

Time slowed to a crawl and he pondered the doctor's words, struggling in vain not to worry. _He'll be fine. He's strong, even the doctor said so. But he stopped breathing, what if he can't start again? What if there's brain damage? She didn't say there was, but maybe she didn't want to worry me. What if they can't do the surgery? If they can't do the surgery, he'll suffocate, I looked up RRP after he told me that's what he had. And what I said to him, why was I so stupid? I'll never get a chance to… oh god, please—_

"Mr. Borash?" The receptionist's voice broke through his internal monologue. He stood up quickly and hurried over to the desk, trying to breathe, trying not to be overcome. Trying to prepare for the worst.

"They've taken Mr. Young off the ventilator and they'll be starting the surgery shortly. It should take about an hour. Dr. Halloway says you should be able to see him as soon as he's done."

JB blinked down at her, utterly at a loss for words, and then let out the breath he'd been holding.

"He's going to be okay, Mr. Borash. You know… he's very lucky to have a friend like you."

He smiled at her then, a smile comprised of pure, utter relief. "Thank you," he replied, and went back to his seat. His mind tried to tell him the worrisome part had actually only just begun – _under the knife, under the knife_, Jarrett's unthinking words echoed in his mind – but he tamped down that voice as best he could, and started counting down the minutes until the receptionist called him again.

When the strain of waiting became too much and his nicotine center was screaming at him, he decided to head out for a cigarette. He almost didn't want to go, afraid the moment he'd step out the door something would happen, Eric would take a turn for the worst…. He stopped by and spoke to the receptionist and she reassured him she would let him know the minute anything happened. With nothing else to do and itching for a smoke, he reluctantly stepped outside.

He wandered down the sidewalk, pulling the crumpled pack of Camels from his hip pocket as he walked. The pack was empty, save for one last cigarette and JB's rattled the pack, wondering what happened to his lighter. He clamped the cigarette between his lips and started patting his pockets, coming up empty until he felt the pocket of his blazer, feeling the lump of a lighter. He reached in and pulled out the lighter, feeling something strange. When he uncurled his fingers, lying in the palm of his hand was his plain old black plastic Bic lighter… and a white feather.

With numb fingers, he took the cigarette out of his mouth before he could drop it, and then picked up the feather, holding it between thumb and middle finger. At first he assumed it had just fallen in his pocket the other day, when he'd run into Eric. But then he realized he'd been wearing his Professional Backstage Interviewer Suit that day, not a blazer. As a matter of fact, this particular blazer had been sitting in his closet in Nashville two days ago.

A little breeze fluttered the feather and before it could blow away, he tucked it back into his pocket. Something about that unlikely feather felt like a good sign and for some reason, he felt like he should save it. He placed the cigarette back to his lips and smoked quickly, anxious to get back into the hospital.

With that taken care of, he made a quick stop to speak with the receptionist again, who reluctantly informed him there was no news yet. He sat back in his plastic chair and waited, his hands clasped again, trying not to think. An eternity, and maybe forty-five minutes later, the receptionist called his name. She smiled at him as he approached.

"Eric Young, room 225. He came through with flying colors. Dr. Halloway should be waiting outside his room to meet with you. Elevators are to your left."

"Thank you," he said, not sure he had ever felt so grateful. The words didn't seem to be enough, and he happened to notice the receptionist's nametag. "Emma. Thank you so much. I appreciate it. Everything."

She smiled and waved towards the elevators. "Go and see your friend, he's waiting."

The elevator was mercilessly slow and the piped in muzak ground in his fillings, but Eric's room was only a little ways down the hall, and Dr. Halloway was indeed waiting just outside the door. She smiled and reached out her hand when she saw JB.

"Didn't I tell you? The surgery went fine. He'll probably be sleeping, maybe a little disoriented when he wakes up. We can't let you stay for too long though, alright? You can come back for visiting hours later today or tomorrow, since we'll probably keep him overnight, just to be safe."

"Thank you, Doctor. I won't bug him too long. I just… want to make sure he's okay."

"I'm sure you do, you had quite a scare earlier. But he's fine." She reached out and put her hand briefly on his shoulder. "Go ahead, I'm sure you need to see him with your own eyes."

With those words, she brushed past him and made her way down the hallway, and JB took a deep breath before turning the handle and entering the room.

**Second Disclaimer: It is in actually true that in March 2006, during surgery, Eric Young stopped breathing and had to be put on a whatsit for about ten minutes until he could breathe on his own again. That actually happened. I didn't make it up.**


	5. But I'm Telling You Now

**Notes: This is the final part guys. I hope you have enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Except for this part. Because it took me three rewrites to get it here. And somehow it's still my favorite part. Please enjoy. =]**

5.

For a long moment all he could do was stand just inside the room and stare at Eric, lying in bed with his head turned away. From his posture, JB had to assume he was asleep. He expected to feel disappointed that everything he needed to say would have to wait, but all he felt was relief. Even with all the tubes and wires and beeps and whooshes surrounding Eric like a pall, he was relieved.

He finally walked across the room and quietly pulled out the chair placed next to the hospital bed, lowering himself down into yet another uncomfortable plastic chair. And for a while, he just sat there, watching. Watching Eric's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of his breath; slow… constant… unhindered.

The realization of what very nearly happened to him, to this man, to his friend caught up with him and JB had to swallow a few times to get rid of the lump that had formed in his throat. He shifted his gaze away and noticed Eric's hand lying atop the bedcover. Without giving it a second thought, he gently reached out and covered it with his own, almost overwhelmed again by life he could feel running through Eric's veins. He took a deep breath and laid his head down on the bed near Eric's arm, closing his eyes and murmuring another prayer, this time of gratitude.

He didn't move until he felt a hand on the back of his head. He sat up quickly, startled by the unexpected touch. Eric was awake, looking at him, smiling that same goddamn little smile. JB couldn't help but smile in return, his relief so great he couldn't breathe.

"Heyyy," he said, squeezing Eric's hand. "I didn't expect you to be awake. How're you feeling?"

Eric lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and made a face. With his free hand, he made a little doodling motion, writing in the air with an invisible pen. JB reluctantly dropped Eric's hand and looked around the room before noticing the bedside table. Someone – perhaps Dr. Halloway or a thoughtful nurse – had left a notepad with a pen pushed into the spiral binding. He handed the notepad to Eric who took it gratefully, propping it on his lap. He scribbled something and turned the paper to show JB what he'd written.

_Not bad. Throat hurts. Can't wait to get out & go home_

JB nodded in understanding. "Milkshakes are on me when they let you out." Eric smiled and gave him a thumbs up. They were silent for a moment, the faint whooshing and quiet steady beeping of machinery the only sounds in the room. Eric looked down at the paper and tapped the pen against his lips, working through something in his mind. After a moment he scribbled something down.

_Surprised to see you here_

"I promised you, didn't I?"

_After the other day & everything I figured that didn't matter _

JB shook his head vehemently as he read the words. "No. The other day I was just tired, exhausted was more like it, stressed out over the work, frustrated… I know that's no excuse, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I wasn't even thinking. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean a word of it, I swear." He reached out and touched Eric's hand, who responded with a smile and curled his fingers around JB's. Writing awkwardly with one hand, he scrawled a single word on the paper.

_Forgiven_

"Just like that?"

He took the paper back and wrote a longer response, not willing to let go of JB's hand, even though it would make writing that much easier.

_Forgave you yesterday. My situation isn't yr fault & I shouldn't have said it was. And I'm sorry for getting up in yr face & pushing you. I was tired & frustrated too, worried about surgery_

"Forgiven," JB replied with a smile. Eric was all big blue eyes at him and he couldn't believe how close he had been to losing this. To throwing this all away. The smile slipped slowly off his face and he unconsciously squeezed Eric's hand a little tighter. Eric furrowed his brow at the sudden change in demeanor and eyed JB, scrutiny all over his face. JB did his best to look candid, but Eric always had the uncanny ability to read him like a book, even when they'd first met.

_Did something happen? During the surgery?_

JB paused, not sure if he should tell Eric what had happened. Surely he didn't need the added stress of learning he almost died placed on him while he was trying to heal. But Eric could read clear as day the worry on his face, and would know if he was lying.

"Yeah… yeah. You… they put you under anesthesia and you…" JB took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Eric reached out, covering JB's hand with his own. He took it gratefully, addressing his next words to their entwined fingers instead of at Eric directly. "You stopped breathing. They put you on a ventilator until the anesthetic wore off some and you could breathe on your own again. It was only for about ten minutes, and Dr. Halloway swore you were never in any real danger, but it was the longest… ten minutes… of my entire life." His voice cracked and he laid his head down on the bedsheet again, feeling his breath hitch in his chest. Blame his nerves, or the sleep-deprivation, or the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, but he was worn thin.

He felt Eric's hand on the back of his head, tentatively stroking his hair, and he took several deep breaths. It was important that he get his shit together and be strong on Eric's behalf, but he wasn't sure he would ever be able unfeel those ten minutes spent in the waiting area. The way his stomach had plummeted when the doctor had come out to speak to him, the absolute certainty that the last words he would ever speak to his friend had been in anger. He'd felt each second crawl over his skin, sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that in some distant room, Eric Young was breathing his last. Alone.

When he was sure that he had himself under some kind of control again, he raised his head. Eric was watching him closely, staring at him with an unrecognizable look on his face. He jotted a few words down on the pad in his lap.

_Don't cry J_

JB's brow furrowed. "What? I'm not—" Eric dropped the pen in his lap and reached out, gently drawing his fingertips along JB's cheek. He pulled his hand back, showing him the moisture on the tips of his fingers. JB blinked and then pressed the back of one hand to his eyes.

"Oh shit," he muttered, scrubbing his face with the heels of his hands. "Sorry."

Eric wrote something, but gave JB a moment to compose himself before showing him the paper.

_Don't be sorry_

"Yeah, well…" he said with halfhearted chuckle, embarrassed to be caught with his guard down. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. Not just… backstage the other day, but for the past few months," He paused, swallowing hard, and made himself continue. "Since what happened behind Jack's. Eric—"

Eric pointed the pen in JB's direction, essentially silencing him. He wrote a few sentences and pushed the paper over to JB, looking away.

_That's another reason I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you hated me for what happened that night. It was a stupid impulsive thing to do & I would take it back if I could. We can forget it ever happened& never talk about it again_

JB read the words, and then read the words again. "I don't think I can do that," he said softly. Eric turned back towards him, his eyes wide and tinged with fear. He reached for the pen but JB intercepted his hand, holding both of them tightly and focusing his attention there, unable to meet Eric's eyes as he spoke.

"I thought it was just… something that happened. The scotch, the heat, my personal troubles… whatever. I tried to tell myself it didn't mean anything, that it was just, you know, a thing that happened. I tried to forget about it. Tried to throw myself into the work, into my relationship with Christina, assuming eventually I'd just… forget. But I couldn't. I tried to ignore you, thinking that would help. I got mad at you, that didn't help either. And then I decided to, no, I _had_ to come here today, to see you. And then you… you almost…. What would I have done, if that had happened? How could I have… lived with that? The way I treated you? Not only the other day, but for the past six months. And—"

Without warning the door opened and a young nurse stepped in. Both men jerked in surprise and JB dropped Eric's hands.

"Mr. Borash, are you still in here? Mr. Young's not even supposed to have visitors right now. Come on, out with you."

"Five more minutes?" He smiled his most charming smile at her. She glared at him for a moment, and looked over at Eric, who was giving her the doe eyes and holding up his hand. With a little sigh, she relented. "Five more minutes, and that's _it. _I'll be back to make sure. You hear?" Both men nodded, and she left the room with a final warning glare.

JB ran his hand through his hair, trying to remember what he'd been trying to say. "So… where was I?"

_About to confess yr love I think_

JB snorted laughter, reaching out for Eric's hand again. "I guess what I was trying to say is that night behind Jack's wasn't just a thing that happened once. It was something. That's why I couldn't forget it. That's why I tried to ignore it." He risked a glance up, meeting Eric's eyes with a little smile. "I'm just sorry it took me… all this… to finally realize it."

They sat in relative silence for a moment, JB still relishing the feel of Eric's hands in his own, grateful for the life that still ran through them. With a sigh, he released Eric's hand. "Your nurse is going to kick me out soon, so I'd better go. But I'll be back later tonight and probably tomorrow, okay?"

Eric made a sad face at the news, but nodded, quickly scribbling a few last lines down.

_Thank you. I'm glad yr here. And when I get better, maybe we can make something happen again_

JB read the words and laughed, standing up slowly and stretching his arms over his head. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Eric's forehead, murmuring "Get better," before standing up and crossing the room, pausing for one final wave at the door before he slipped out. Eric lay lost in thought for a while, barely noticing when Hannah, his nurse, strode in to check on him. He continued to smile even after she left, reveling in his ability to take deep, clear breaths, and fell asleep, still smiling.


End file.
